


Love thy neighbour

by Rosaliss



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale and Crowley are a married couple who just wants to enjoy some quality time together, Aziraphale is very kind, Crowley is very done, Fluff and Humor, Multi, Oh also, Shadwell is very confused, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), aka what they are in the book and tv show, and Madame Tracy is actually amazing but i had to exagerate her character a bit for this, and i'd love to be her neighbour, at one point they talk about sex, book/series hybrid, i do love her tho, not explicit just awkward, okay okay here we go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 03:15:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19782106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosaliss/pseuds/Rosaliss
Summary: “Good afternoon and pleasure to meet you, we’re—oh!” said a familiar voice. “It’s you!”“Madame Tracy?” Aziraphale asked, and sure enough, there she was, the old woman who had served as a vessel for the angel, standing at their door with a bottle of wine and the witch hunter Crowley had been in contact with, that Sergeant Shadwell.-Aziraphale and Crowley decide to go live in the countryside to enjoy some relaxing time alone. Unfortunately for them, Madame Tracy and Shadwell are their new neighbours, and they don't seem to share the same concept of "tranquillity".





	Love thy neighbour

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I read the book only recently (and finally, I may add!), just in time to watch the tv show, and fell in love with the story and its characters, Aziraphale and Crowley in particular. I swear, I've spent the last weeks watching edits on YouTube and reading fics on here, and I wanted to give my own contribution to the fandom. So, yeah, here it is. My first attempt with these characters.

Aziraphale, angel, and Crowley, demon, had done an infinity of things in their inhumanly long lives: miracles, temptations, wars with or against God, raising insufferable wealthy American children (only one, thankfully). It was their job and their nature, but after averting the end of the world, they thought they deserved some peace.

The idea of moving into a nice cottage in the countryside was first brought up in the course of an evening spent drinking together in Aziraphale’s bookshop.

“What I’m saying,” Crowley mumbled from behind a glass of fine Italian wine, “is that London is a great place, so full of delightf… deli… of great human temptations—and more than a few of my own creation if I can brag a little.” He stopped. “Uh, what was I saying?”

“Temptations,” Aziraphale said.

“No, before that.”

“London.”

“Ah, yes! London. London is great, but I think we should take a break from all of this. We’ve earned it, angel.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I say that you and I buy a house somewhere quiet. Far away from here.”

“Mmh,” Aziraphale said into his own glass. “I have to say that that sounds like a good idea, my dear.”

“Of course it does,” Crowley scoffed. “You up to it?”

“We could go to the South of France.”

“Or to the Maldives.”

“To Italy, so we can buy some more of this,” Aziraphale said, shaking the bottle of Valpolicella he had in his hand.

“To Iceland. Nobody lives in Iceland, right?”

“I’m pretty sure that there are people in Iceland, Crowley.”

“Or the Philippines. I went there once, a couple of centuries ago. Beautiful sea.”

Aziraphale’s eyes brightened. “What about South Downs?”

“South Downs?”

“Yes.”

Crowley grimaced. “I was thinking about somewhere a bit farther away than that.”

“But, Crowley, dear, it’s perfect! We could buy a cottage, enjoy the calm of the English countryside, hike on the moor, watch the sunrise by the cliffs…”

“You’ve seen plenty of sunrises already, Aziraphale. You saw the original sunrise.”

“Oh, please, Crowley! Let’s go to South Downs!”

Crowley sighed. It couldn’t be that bad, as long as they were together, and he could take care of the garden. “All right, angel. South Downs it is.”

At the end of the night, the alcohol was miracled away from their system, the bookshop was cleaned up, but the idea stuck.

A week later, Aziraphale and Crowley signed the deed to their new property in South Downs: a picturesque cottage immersed in nature and with only one other cottage in the vicinity. Life promised to be good.

*

“That was the last one,” Aziraphale announced, snapping his fingers. The last book, a first edition of _Orlando_ signed by Virginia Woolf herself, landed perfectly in the last empty space on the last shelf. “We have officially moved in!”

“Good,” Crowley said, and he jumped up from the comfortable living room chair he’d already decided was his. “‘Cause all this transferring books and furniture and stuff was starting to get boring.”

“You barely moved a finger!”

“I thought we were coming here to enjoy some quality time alone,” Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s ear. “Just you and me, a comfy couch, maybe some good food.” He wrapped his arms around his angel’s waist. “Far away from any nuisance.”

Aziraphale smiled and hugged him back. “Well, now that the moving is done, nothing is stopping us from doing just that.”

Like some perfectly timed, cruel joke of fate, the doorbell chose that exact moment to chime, making Aziraphale startle and pull back and Crowley write a mental note to destroy their bell and any other bell that would have crossed his path in the future.

“Guests!” exclaimed Aziraphale.

“Or door-to-door salesmen,” muttered Crowley. “Now, tell me, what’s the point in running away to a deserted land if people decide to ring at your door when you’re trying to have some good time with your husband?”

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy. We’ll have all the time to cuddle later.”

“But I wanted to do it now. And don’t use that word. It makes it sounds… sweet.”

Aziraphale waved his hand in a dismissive way. Before Crowley was able to stop him, he was opening the front door with a warm smile and Crowley couldn’t do anything other than follow him with his arms crossed and what he hoped was an annoyed enough expression to persuade the newcomers to go away immediately.

“Good afternoon and pleasure to meet you, we’re—oh!” said a familiar voice. “It’s you!”

“Madame Tracy?” Aziraphale asked, and sure enough, there she was, the old woman who had served as a vessel for the angel, standing at their door with a bottle of wine and the witch hunter Crowley had been in contact with, that Sergeant Shadwell.

“What a surprise!” Madame Tracy said. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, we live here,” Aziraphale answered. “What are you doing here?”

“We live here too! Oh, what a wonderful, wonderful surprise. Shad, have you heard that?”

“I heard all right,” said Shadwell, who looked as thrilled as Crowley felt.

“Excuse me,” Crowley interrupted. “What you mean you live here?”

“We own the cottage near yours. We were just coming to introduce ourselves to the new neighbours; we surely didn’t imagine it was you!” Madame Tracy smiled, making her way inside the cottage, followed by a reluctant Shadwell. “This is amazing news. Shadwell was a little worried about the new neighbours, weren’t you, Shad? I feel so relieved knowing it’s you, even though last time we met the situation was a little… out of the ordinary, I’d say. What happened that time, anyway?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer the question, but Crowley beat him on time.

“The end of the world,” he said. “Nearly.”

“Well, let’s just hope nothing like that happens this time around. I’ve already had my fair share of adventures in life if you get what I mean.”

“Perfectly,” said Aziraphale. “Crowley and I were here for that exact same reason: to try and find some peace.”

“That’s perfect, then,” Madame Tracy said. “We can dine together, and have small gatherings, and take long walks together. Enjoy the tranquillity of the countryside. Oh, we’re going to have so much fun, us four!”

“Uh.” Aziraphale’s face was starting to show traces of dread, even if not as deep as Crowley’s, which amused Crowley just a little bit. “Sure we are.”

Crowley took the wine bottle from Madame Tracy’s hands with a fake smile at her and a meaningful look at Aziraphale. The look that said, “It was your idea to invite these people in in the first place, so now it’s your job to throw them out so we can drink this wine and enjoy some actual tranquillity in the countryside” and that Aziraphale had no problem understanding.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Crowley and I were just about to have some… uh… tea. So, you know, if you want to—”

“Join you?” Madame Tracy completed. “With great pleasure.”

“No, that’s not what I—”

Crowley felt something tapping on his shoulder and turned around to see Shadwell’s face, way too close to his.

“Listen,” Shadwell said in a low, conspiratory voice, “I don’t remember much of what happened with you two, but I wanted to tell you that I’m pretty sure your friend there is a demon.”

Crowley stared at Shadwell. Shadwell stared back.

Then Crowley popped off the bottle cap and took a long sip.

*

At the end of the day, Crowley was forced to admit that South Downs hadn't been such a bad idea. Despite the geographical proximity, the countryside really was the furthest thing from London one could imagine. No constant noise, no flocks of businessmen with grey suits at every corner, no damn M25 to stop the Bentley. Crowley also had to acknowledge that, in the last decades, he'd got used to the British weather: moving to some hot, tropical place would have reminded him too much of Hell for his taste. And then there was Aziraphale, who, with his noble posture and gentleman manners, fitted so well with the old English cottage. Crowley thought that that was how the countryside must have been like in the early 19th century (he didn't know for sure, of course; he was asleep back then).

Right at that moment, Aziraphale was sitting on a wicker rocking chair under the porch, reading a book, while Crowley was yelling at a particularly insolent rose bush. It was a beautiful afternoon and Crowley was debating leaving the roses to go give a kiss to his husband and a scowl to the primroses when the worst thing imaginable happened.

Madame Tracy and Shadwell came back.

"Good afternoon again, boys," Madame Tracy chirped. "We were going for a walk and thought, 'Let's see what our good old neighbours are up to.'"

"We were just relaxing," Aziraphale smiled.

"I heard someone shout," Shadwell said, peering at Crowley under his furrowed eyebrows. 

"Oh, that was just my dear Crowley taking care of the plants."

"You yell to take care of them?"

"I'm old school," Crowley deadpanned.

Madame Tracy opened the little garden fence and let herself in. She walked up to Aziraphale, grabbed his arm and made him stand up. "Why don't you and I go make some tea? Just like old times. Our husbands can stay out here and talk about botany or whatever."

Crowley mouthed, 'Don't you dare', but Aziraphale only gave him a sorry look before disappearing inside with Madame Tracy, leaving Crowley alone with Shadwell, who raised a single finger and asked, "Husbands?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Yes, we're married."

"How is that possible?"

Crowley sighed deeply. "You see, when two people love each other very much—"

"No, I know how marriage works. I did it myself, for goodness sake! What I mean is, how can you get married when you are..."

"When we are what?"

"You know," Shadwell muttered. "A man and a demon."

Crowley blinked. "There are government papers."

Shadwell shook his head. "This country has really gone to the dogs. Back in the days when the Witchfinder Army was at its heyday, this kind of things wouldn't have been permitted. Demons were just eliminated. No offence."

"None taken."

They stood there in silence, Shadwell still on the other side of the fence, glaring at the sky as it had personally offended him, Crowley in the middle of the garden, glaring at the rose bush because they had personally offended him, until Crowley coughed and excused himself to the house.

He stamped inside, eager to find Aziraphale and maybe a shear, but stopped abruptly when he heard the voices from the kitchen.

"—perfectly normal part of a marriage," Madame Tracy was saying. "Nothing to be ashamed of."

"That's not the problem.” Crowley could imagine the red cheeks and wide eyes that were probably accompanying Aziraphale’s distressed tone. “Crowley and I, we don't have certain needs, we don't need to have—"

"Age isn't a problem either. So many people think that having a sex life is exclusively a thing for younger people. I can personally assure that it's not. If only they could see me and Shad under the covers! I tell you, he's a witch hunter, but when the night comes, he's the one who transforms into a total beast."

The sound of ceramic clicking and the distressed voice of Aziraphale cried out, "Madame Tracy! Please!"

"Oh, you don't need to be shy with me. I've seen it all. And when I say all, I mean all. When you do the job I did, it's inevitable. Between you and me," her voice lowered, but not enough for Crowley's demonic ears not to pick it up, "I've had some clients with peculiar tastes. I still to this day remember the gentleman that asked me if I could—"

"That's really not the point!" Aziraphale squeaked.

"You're right. How egocentric of me to divert the conversation! We were talking about your husband's little friend."

"And that's enough," Crowley said, stepping inside the room.

Aziraphale's eyes lit up. "Crowley!" he said with relief.

"I think your visit has been prolonged enough," Crowley said, taking Madame Tracy by the shoulders and directing her through the living room to the front door. "Thanks for coming." He opened the fence, shoved her into Shadwell's arms and closed it again behind her. "Let's not do this again."

*

In the following days, Crowley's patience was put on a strain. Madame Tracy and Shadwell seemed to have made it their life ambition to ruin his life. They must have had some sort of special sense that activated whenever Crowley and Aziraphale were having a nice moment together because they appeared at the worst times possible. If the two of them were dining together, their neighbours would knock on the door and decide that it was a great idea to add a couple of chairs at the table. If they were walking hand in hand at the sunset, there were Madame Tracy and Shadwell with their annoying questions about their private life. On one memorable occasion in which Aziraphale and Crowley had decided to go visit a nearby town, they had decided to tag along and honest to Satan tried to get inside the Bentley, which had resulted in an angry outburst on his part and a lot of excuses from Aziraphale.

Not that the angel was thrilled by the constant interruptions, Crowley could see it clearly in the way his smile froze and his shoulders feel a little every time the pair came into sight. He was just too nice to tell them off.

"I can't do this anymore, angel," Crowley said one evening.

They were in the bathtub, immersed in the warm water and surrounded by bubbles (Aziraphale had a thing for bath bombs, Crowley had discovered), both with a glass of wine in the hand.

"Oh, come on, dear boy. They're good people, they're not doing this on purpose."

"They're ruining our lives!"

"Now you're just being overdramatic. Yes, they are a little bit..."

"Annoying? Irritating? Clingy?"

Aziraphale splashed Crowley. "Don't."

"Let's face the facts. How many times have they invited us over for dinner? And, even worse, how many times have they invited themselves in our home? It's been only ten days, and I've already lost count. I don't like them. She's always chatting about utter nonsense, and he keeps pointing his index finger at you. I don't know what he's doing, but I don't like it."

"Well, that makes two of us," Aziraphale sighed. "But what do you want us to do? They're not bad people, Crowley. And they helped us with the Armageddon, remember?"

"Yes, yes, I get it, she helped carried you around after you were discorporated and you feel some kind of angelic duty towards her. But do I need to remind you who caused your discorporation in the first place? I say you forget your sense of honour and help me get rid of them."

"I won't help you in such a distasteful operation, Crowley."

Crowley took a sip of wine and casually said, "I need a couple of new flowerpots for the garden."

"You won't transform them into flowerpots!"

"Why not?" Crowley whined.

"Because not! Promise me you won't do it."

"I promise," Crowley mumbled. "But mark my words: it'll come a moment when you'll realize that you were the folly one and that flowerpots were our best option."

As to confirm his words, the phone rang. Crowley raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale, who scoffed.

"You don't know it's them."

After a moment, the doorbell started ringing as well. Crowley's eyebrow rose higher.

Aziraphale got out of the bathtub and miracled some clothes on.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" Crowley asked, reaching out an arm to catch his husband's wrist.

"It could be an emergency."

"Oh, you know as well as I do that it's not an emergency. They probably want to make you taste cookies or watch a film. This is our relaxing bath, Aziraphale!"

Aziraphale's face spoke eloquently of the pain that leaving the warm bathroom and his beloved demon was causing him but opened the door nonetheless. Crowley let out a grunt, got up and waved his hand to dry off his body and make his clothes and sunglasses appear as he walked up to the door.

"Listen," Aziraphale said, hand already on the knob, "Saturday night I'll take you out in the moor, okay? We can light a fire and eat something and dance under the stars. All right?"

"Whatever you want," Crowley muttered, crossing his arms as Aziraphale opened the door to reveal, to the surprise of no one, Madame Tracy and Shadwell.

"Sorry for the late hour," the woman said. "We were wondering if you wanted company."

"Madame Tracy," Crowley said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, call me Marjorie."

"Sure thing, Madame Tracy."

Crowley turned around to find, once again, that Shadwell was staring at him from a too short distance. "And what do you want?"

Shadwell's eyes got smaller as he bowed his head to get closer to Crowley. "I have a question for you. A very important one. One of pressing relevance."

"I'll pass."

Shadwell glanced at Aziraphale, who was busy talking to Madame Tracy, then again at Crowley and leaned in a little more. "How many nipples does your husband have?"

Crowley stared in his eyes for a moment, then said, "Zero."

*

"It's not even true!"

"It doesn't matter whether it's true or not, angel. You should have seen his face!" Crowley snickered.

"I suppose it must have been at least a little bit amusing."

"Damn right it was!"

Aziraphale laid a blanket down on the grass. "Here it's perfect."

Crowley clapped his hands and a campfire appeared next to the blanket. He held out a hand for Aziraphale to help him sit down, then he flopped down beside him.

The sky was full of stars and the night was clear enough that they could actually see them—something they couldn’t do in central London. Crowley had always been quite keen on stars; there was something about their destructive, flaming beauty. It had been long since he’d last visited one, and also since last time he and Aziraphale had gone stargazing.

Aziraphale laid his head on Crowley’s shoulder. The crackling fire was burning their faces. The sensation on his skin wasn’t the same as the one he’d felt during the Great Fire of Rome or the time Aziraphale’s bookshop had ended up in flames (not that Crowley had cared about something as futile as the sensation on his skin then), and it definitely hadn’t anything to do with Hell’s fire. This was...

"This is nice," Aziraphale whispered.

"This is great," Crowley said.

"This is justice," Shadwell yelled, jumping out of nowhere and straight on their blanket.

"What the hell are you doing?" Crowley snarled.

"Saving you from this demon!"

"From who now?" Aziraphale asked.

Crowley got up and tried to catch Shadwell's arm. "This has gone way too far," he said. "You are— Ouch!" He looked at his own finger with wide eyes. "He pinched me!"

"The witch hunter's pin!" Shadwell yelled.

"Aziraphale, he pinched me!"

"Can we all calm down, please?" said Aziraphale, going to stand beside Crowley. "You," he said to Shadwell. "You can't go around pinching people. It's very rude."

"Not another word, creature of the devil! Or this pin will end up in your demonic flesh next time."

"Oh, not this again," Aziraphale sighed, covering his face with his hands. "Mr Shadwell, I've already told you that I'm not a warlock, a demon, or whatever other creature you've mistaken me for."

"Shut up! I heard you, the other day, talking about your plans for the Black Sabbath."

"My what?"

"Saturday night—tonight, that is—, the moor, the fire, the banquet, the dances of the devil! I know a Sabbath when I see one."

"Oh, good Lord. Mr Shadwell—"

"It's Sergeant Shadwell! Former retired member of the Witchfinding Army, recently reintegrated. Stay back!"

"Yes, stay back, Aziraphale," Crowley said in a mocking tone, "or else he'll pinch you to death."

"What's going on here?" asked a voice behind them.

They all turned around to see Madame Tracy, clenched fists and chin raised high, marching towards them with her bright red nightgown flying behind her.

Shadwell startled. "Marjorie!"

"Shad," she said. "Care to explain why I woke up in the middle of the night to an empty bed or why I had to follow the light of the fire and the sound of your shouts to find you all here doing—what are you doing?"

"It's all been a misunderstanding," Aziraphale said, palms up in a sign of peace.

"Your husband is crazy," Crowley said. "You should consider buying him a lash."

"I'm just doing my duty as a witch hunter!"

"Oh, again with these stories!" Madame Tracy rolled her eyes, stepped in front of Shadwell and took the pin from his hands. "I thought you were done with all of this."

"I had to save our neighbour from this demon!" Shadwell pointed at Aziraphale.

Madame Tracy looked utterly shocked, so much that she didn't manage to say a word for a long minute. When she came to her senses, she clenched her jaw and hissed, "This is ridiculous. You're being ridiculous. You're making a fool of yourself in front of our friends."

"But—"

"Not a single word." She grabbed his wrist. "We're going home. Now. Gentlemen, if you'll excuse us." That said, she stomped into the night in the direction of their cottage, dragging a frowning Shadwell behind her.

"That was... uh..." Aziraphale cleared his throat. "How is your finger?"

Crowley looked at him with puppy eyes behind his dark lenses. "He pinched me."

*

They didn't see Madame Tracy and Shadwell until the following night. By then, Crowley had bought two plants, just in case.

"You're not turning them into flowerpots!" Aziraphale had protested.

Crowley had shrugged and put them in a corner of the garden for future use.

When Madame Tracy and Shadwell knocked on their door, she had her motherly smile back on and he had his brow furrowed but his eyes on the ground. He looked like a child who'd been scolded by his mother, and Crowley found it endlessly amusing. He had to dissimulate a laugh as a coughing fit when Madame Tracy elbowed Shadwell and forced him to apologize. What a bright day.

Of course, everything was soon ruined by Aziraphale's immediate forgiveness and Madame Tracy's invite to a movie night to "properly apologize for the incident". Which, in Crowley's point of view, was utter nonsense: who on earth could find it a good idea to organise a movie night when the reason why the apology itself was necessary was the inability of the injured party to spend a night alone?

"What a wonderful idea," Aziraphale said instead because he was an angel (an actual good angel, unlike some of his colleagues) and thus unable to turn down a peace offering, even after everything that had happened.

Crowley just sighed.

"Splendid!" Madame Tracy said. She rummaged in her bag. "We can watch my favourite musical. I'm sure you'll like it."

"Oh, I love mu—" Aziraphale started but promptly stopped when Madame Tracy's hand came out of the bag with a DVD.

Crowley and Aziraphale winced.

The girl on the cover was unmistakable. Short blonde hair, blue dress, open arms, the mountains on the background.

_The sound of music_.

"Will you—will you excuse us for a moment, please?" Aziraphale stammered. He grabbed Crowley by the arm and pulled him in a corner. "We have to get rid of them," he whispered.

"Glad to see that you've finally come to reason," Crowley smirked. "I'll go take the plants."

"No, no, forget the plants!" Aziraphale let out the deepest sigh, a sigh that spoke of all the wrongdoing he'd borne in the last days. "I'll take care of them."

*

It was such a shame, Aziraphale said, that Madame Tracy and Shadwell had to move so soon. An invasion of toxic mould in the cottage, who would have thought of that? Well, but you know how it is, with these old countryside houses. Oh, such a shame indeed. What a lucky coincidence, though, that they'd been offered a bungalow in Scotland. So far from South Downs, yes, but they couldn't miss the opportunity, could they?

Crowley couldn't stop laughing.

And so Madame Tracy and Shadwell moved away, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale to enjoy their property in South Downs: a picturesque cottage immersed in nature and with no other cottage in the vicinity. Life was good.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! Thanks for reading if you did! I'm not completely satisfied with this, I gotta be honest. I'm afraid humour is not my genre when it comes to writing, but I really liked the idea. Oh, well. Hopefully, I won't regret posting this.
> 
> Feel free to comment and say whatever, just remember to be kind to me and to others!


End file.
